A Shamrock station edged in morning glare; a screech of brakes as the four of us pulled up there. ''Fill 'er up an' check the oil.'' We got the heap in a twenty buck deal (De Soto was the brand) and we thought it a steal. The sudden, strong, distinctive reek of gasoline for a few minutes engulfed the scene. And we were off for a rattling ride on an arrow road with a waste of sand on either side. Only the telegraph poles leaped by, seemingly flung into space. Life was a dream and a laugh that day in the sun when we were young and loved to race.